


Clench

by Narroch



Category: Strawberry Panic!
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narroch/pseuds/Narroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Shizuma is a pleasurable predator who plunders all the pretty girls in school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clench

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this back in '11 on fanfiction.net. Moved it over here to save it from the Purge of Filth.
> 
> Gratuitous femslash, PWP, 1st person POV, writing exercise to get out of a funk and hell yes it worked.

I'm easily flipping up and under their tiny skirts in the musty locker room, I'm ripping the fancy silver buttons off their blouses in the silent library, putting my leg between theirs and simply _pressing_ until I feel their arousal seep through the fabric, until they beg with a breathless sob. I'm holding them between my teeth, sharp, tight, possessive, as a great cat grips a desperate, still-kicking gazelle by the neck.

I'm licking a fiery line up their timid, pulsing throats in the hallway, fingering them gently in the fifth floor bathroom, tying them up to the stairwell and letting them writhe and twitter nervously before I silence them; fill their mouths with tongue, teeth, and wet probing fingers. I'm lifting each one up and rocking her on my hipbone until she trembles, whimpers, comes.

I'm pressing them to the wall and sucking them off, murmuring threats against their quivering, wet folds to be silent, or to scream, or to bite themselves if that will help (or I murmur nothing and do the biting for them, just to hear the squeal). I'm skull fucking them to return the favor, holding their delicate faces between my thighs and teaching them the contours of my cunt, my vermillion shrine where they are forced to worship.

I'm bracing them on their hands and knees, shooting a quart of lube up their ass before pressing in two, three, four fingers and then my entire fist; freight-training them so hard their pussies drip a jealous, needy puddle.

Everywhere I go the familiar animal scent fills the air with humid heat – slippery, cloying, beckoning. I can't tell if the luscious, earthy smell is coming from me or if I'm just downwind from the excited breeze blowing between their thighs. They know exactly what I am, they know I have a mile-wide streak that's pure predator and when they see me coming, sauntering, strutting, stalking, they don't know whether to run or to assemble. Eager, scared; resistant, yielding.

The visible juxtaposition makes me hard.

I do them, all of them, in all the ways and places I can. But right now, at this very moment, I am doing the star of the school. I am fucking her. _Frog-fucking_ her, to be deliciously specific.

I balance on the balls of my feet, crouching on the ground with kinetic readiness, instep flexing as I bounce in a constant rhythm. She is under me, folded in much the same way, her heels pressed to her ass, legs spread wide, welcoming and begging within the same pose. I lean over her and she rolls into the motion; I lay a bite on her neck and I can feel her full-body shudder directly against mine. Thigh to thigh, breast to breast, cunt to cunt, this is tribadism in its most successful form.

Her nipples are screwed on hard, her face gleaming with sex-flush as her hair sprawls out under her in a sweaty halo. She wants to beg, but is far too refined for that despite her obviously lewd position, and it is only when I stop moving completely that her self-control is siphoned off like lost sexual heat.

She trembles, hisses, glares. Immune to her tactics I hold tight, press her down but not in the right way, not where she needs the pressure most.

Finally, a crack splinters the facade of restraint.

" _Please_..." She moans the weighty concession; even her voice has turned throaty, lusty.

My teeth are set, my feet are planted, grasping her hips, I can do anything; and I kindly reward her delicate transparency. Her eyes flutter as I begin thrusting, thrumming, head falling back, pushing in, drawing out, ramming against her. I laugh as she arches into it, moans into the succulent motion beneath the damp pelt of my cunt. I'm being generous and she is reaching for it, pushing up even more, thighs desperately flexing to meet my every thrust until the pressing turns deeper, becomes more precise, and then our clits are kissing, slipping, rubbing.

Writhing. Rippling. Fucking. This is what I call fucking.

And she is twisting, thrusting, thrashing beneath an aching scream she has no hope of holding back, and even then I am not stopping. I latch on to the pulsing junction of neck and shoulder; my teeth are gentle though nothing else about me is (body shaking, ass clenching, cunt creaming, throbbing out, driving in). I baptize her in pleasure; anoint her with my holy oil, until she is shuddering beneath my body's blessing.

I hold her down until the rapture passes.

" _Good girl_ ," I whisper before peeling away from her like second skin, scales falling away, leaving her as a newborn.

Small, warm, brand new.

And alone.


End file.
